


Inseparable

by neichan



Category: NCIS, The Sentinel, Without a Trace
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe, Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-20
Updated: 2006-07-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 16:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neichan/pseuds/neichan
Summary: A virus is released by a lab accident. The results are not the ones anyone would have liked.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

  
Author's notes: Consider this a bunny. Anyone can take it and run with it. I may play with it later, but I am too busy now...enjoy....  


* * *

On January first on any given year, most people have the day off.

 

The men and women working at the Hendricks Biological Laboratory located along California State Highway 80 had the day off, all but a skeleton crew. Most of the people who were working were low level non-scientific staff. Trained to call administrators at once if there was a problem. The call came in at 1105 in the morning of January 1st, 2006.

 

That was how the accident was said to have been able to happen. The lab supervisors had detailed handouts showing the reasons the accident could not have been predicted or avoided. Because it took place on a holiday. Because the people staffing the lab were not trained scientists.

 

On nearly any other day someone would have noticed the indicator light in lab four go on. Followed shortly by the indicator light in the adjacent lab six. Long before the catastrophe that vented the contents of lab four and lab six into the environment around the lab, where it was carried by prevailing wind currents toward the park.

 

Lab four was a virology lab. And a major storage facility for viral plasmids meant for use in future DNA studies were kept.

 

Lab six a chemical lab. In which chemicals that promoted symbiosis were being analyzed.

 

The two were closer together than they should have been considering the potential for problems, or so the specialist addressing the later Senate hearing would claim. Problems should have been anticipated. The lab had never had a major accident in it's nearly 20 year operating history.

 

As it was when the pressure in lab four exceeded recommended levels, a valve released and an internal alarm was triggered. Still not a problem. Until the same thing occurred in lab six and it's valve was released. Out into the environment. Not into a contained unit.

 

The resulting unexpectedly strong vacuum collapsed the containment walls between the two labs allowing communication from the viral lab into the chemical lab and out into the environment.

 

An altered virus was discharged. Twenty seven hundred pounds of it, out into the air being enjoyed by holiday visitors at Walter Griffin State Park in the San Francisco Bay Area, and the surrounding areas, including the freeway system where passing cars whizzed by, occupants unsuspecting.

 

Thousands of visitors who had driven up from all over the state to enjoy the holiday were the recipients of the viral load. An even greater number of local residents were exposed.

 

The consequences of the inhalation of the virus was not immediately apparent as there were no acute affects beyond a minor constellation of symptoms, dry mouth, scratchy throat, itchy eyes.

 

The long term effects were far more profound. And became apparent within the first hour of exposure.

 

The Senators had been regaled with scientific double speak until they demanded an explanation that was both frank and cogent. With the power to impart sanctions, the Senators were given their easy to understand explanation. Behind closed doors.

 

The Virus, for everyone had started to capitalize the word now when speaking of the San Francisco tragedy, had been in the form of a plasmid, specially crafted to increase the ease with which it entered the cells of a host. The contact with the chemicals released from lab six had formed a compound that the Virus carried with it. The compound with it's viral vector was rapidly absorbed when inhaled.

 

The inhaled composite caused a gradual mutation in the cells of the individuals who inhaled it. It adapted quickly. Fortunately the chemicals broke down just as rapidly. So those effected could not be considered carriers. They were not infectious. Nor could their DNA be returned to it's pre-exposure state, however.

 

Persons who had been in close contact with each other within fifteen seconds of exposure were stuck. The Virus had caused them to form an interdependency. A symbiosis. The victims were tagged The Symbioses by the media, which was in less scrupulous hands shortened to Syms, mimicking the popular computer game. They needed to maintain regular and close contact with one another or their bodies would shut down.

 

35,986 people were affected on that day. The proper authorities were notified within ten minutes of the accident and the park quarantined. Three thousand people who left during their unwitting exposure, or who were driving by, and weren't caught died later that day, as they separated themselves from their lifelines...the strangers who had been standing next to them, walking by as they exited the park. A similar number of persons in the park died.

 

The Virus caused the victims to instinctively seek out the other compatible people it needed for it's host to survive. But it wasn't possible that everyone should find their matches in time. Those that were near to them refused to be separated, and became violent if it was insisted upon. There were major scuffles in several of the decontamination lines when males and females were separated, or the attempt was made.

 

By the time one hour had passed, total strangers who had been exposed together, were holding hands and scrubbing each other in the decontamination showers. The behavior was noted, it could not have been missed it occurred with such frequency, in one case nine people refused to be separated as they stood in one naked, shivering clump, unable to fit into a single shower.

 

Agents Jack Malone and Martin Fitzgerald were sitting in Jack's car while Jack took a phone call from Washington, and Martin drove towards the San Francisco International Airport. The criminal they were transporting was asleep in the car's backseat, his head lolling as the miles rolled by under the tires. A traffic accident slowed their progress, and saved their lives by delaying their arrival at the airport, where they were to hand over custody to officers who would fly the man to the Middle East for trial.

 

The virus found it's way in through the air ducts, sucked in through the heating system as Martin drove past the park, and was discharged, still viable, into the car's interior to wreak it's 15 seconds of life altering mayhem.

 

In those fifteen seconds Agents Martin Fitzgerald, Jack Malone, and international terrorist Avril Behm became inseparable.


	2. Chapter 2

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was pissed off. Not his usual cranky, growling and demanding results kind of pissed off, but his really, really, blow your top and kill things kind of pissed off.

 

Fifteen seconds. Fifteen damn, measly seconds. Fifteen lousy seconds. If he hadn't had to share a room with the two other agents because the director was so cheap....

 

If DiNozzo hadn't spilled Gibbs' morning coffee all over the table in the room they'd had to share....

 

If they hadn't stopped to get a refill on the way to meeting the incoming MP's who were escorting three prisoners fresh from Iraq, Marines who hadn't lived up to the ethics and codes, who had taken the law into their own hands and killed another Marine....

 

If Burley and DiNozzo hadn't gotten into an argument over who got to drive the damn rented Ford Explorer....

 

If Gibbs hadn't had to get in their faces and blow his top to get them into the car, with Burley driving..just because it was the first name that popped out of his mouth, no other reason....

 

If they'd been anywhere else for those fifteen seconds he wouldn't be stuck in this unbelievable situation....

 

"It could have been worse, boss," came Dinozzo's unwelcome, unconsidered comment.

 

Gibbs glowered at him, and Burley looked at the younger man as if he'd gone nuts. The blond man wisely kept his mouth shut, or else he was too shocked for a minute to speak.

 

Gibbs was not in the mood to listen to the other men resume their discussions. They seemed to do that incessantly, and in their current situation, Gibbs was not able to follow his impulse and leave them to it, all byt themselves. No, he had to stay.He had no choice. He'd been listening to their sniping for just about four months now.

 

DiNozzo didn't take the hint and shut his trap, showing his usual immunity to common sense. He kept right on babbling, practically sitting in Burley's lap their chairs were so close. Which was hysterical, all things considered, that they should be forced to sit so close to feel comfortable. Gibbs thought about putting his gun in that flapping mouth and making the other man shut up. He'd rarely been this angry.

 

Oblivious of the homicidal thoughts directed his way, Tony kept talking. "There were these two FBI guys, they were transporting a terrorist, uh, Avril Behm. Now they are stuck with him." He held his fingers tightly together, a physical representation of what the feebees were going through. Also a physical representation of how he and Stan were sitting, Gibbs pacing a few feet away. Gibbs pacing, but wanting to get over there and push one of them, both of them onto their backs on the floor on the scratchy, institutional carpet, and straddle them. Both. Both. Definitely both. Shit.

 

Damn that was worse. But... "And how does that help, DiNozzo?" Gibbs growled out. "How does that fix this?" He waved his hand between the three of them. He was still thinking about guns and DiNozzo and where to put his.

 

"It doesn't. I just meant it could be worse." Tony said awfully calmly. Both of the other men in the locked conference room glared at him. Stan from about two inches away, Gibbs from six yards, the maximum he found he could manage to get away and not scream. Too close...he felt like killing them. Too far away, he felt like he was going nuts. Of course...too close and he was going to go nuts also. Close enough to stay in earshot....

 

It had taken Gibbs most of two years to train that impulse to argue out of Stan. To make him a quiet, smart efficient agent. Now, a few months in DiNozzo's company and all, well...most of Gibbs' work was undone. Stan was just as talkative as Tony now. Gibbs almost groaned.

 

"Are you telling us to look on the bright side?" Stan Burley asked incredulously, not seeing the strangeness of arguing heatedly with the man he was all but cuddling with. His body was turned toward Tony's, Tony's shoulder tucked into the front of Burley's body. "Cause I am really not seeing one." His tone held a note of warning.

 

"We didn't die. We aren't bonded to criminals. Not like those FBI guys. We know each other. We aren't strangers. We like each other. We have the same kinds of jobs, work to get done." DiNozzo ticked his points off on his fingers. Stan's other hand held his, their fingers unconsciously intertwining, even as he snorted his disbelief.

 

"Fuck you," Burley said. Gibbs just glowered. Stan ticked off his own points on his one free hand. "Bad things. One, I'm getting married in less than a week. Oh, wait...I ~was~ getting married in less than a week. Now...I'm not. Two, I have to live with you two for the rest of my foreseeable future. Three, I have to live in DC again. Which I hate. Four, you are men. We all are. No women. Hello. Not seeing the ups here, DiNozzo. Except I have a gun and can shoot myself."

 

Gibbs' glacial gaze transferred back to Tony. Waiting for his rebuttal. It wasn't long in coming.

 

"Item number one," the younger man said. He paused. "We don't have a choice. Adapt or die. I for one don't want to die. Nor do I intend to. And that means whatever I have to do, I will do. And item number two, you," he pointed at Stan, "can't shoot yourself because if you do it will kill us, too. No fair."

 

"Ghod. That is almost reason enough right there." Stan muttered.

 

Gibbs had to concede to DiNozzo's point. He inexplicably felt his rage fading. Good point, DiNozzo, he thought grudgingly. And the only point that mattered. They could talk feelings and emotions and how ghoddamned unfair it was, get all girly about it...but it boiled down to...reality. They didn't have a choice. Not if they wanted to survive.

 

There was a polite knock at the door. Firm. Not going away sort of knock. Gibbs knew at once it was Ziva. He sighed, shooting a warning glance at the other two.

 

"Gibbs, you are going to want to see this." She said without any greeting. He nodded and followed her out, gritting his teeth as Tony and Stan scrambled to follow him. It wasn't until they'd caught up that his body stopped screaming at him. Tony surreptitiously snagged the back of his pants, hooking his finger's into Gibbs belt.

 

"Boss, don't ~do~ that." He said. "That ~hurts~."

 

Gibbs was well aware that it hurt. It hurt him every time he did it. But for some reason he couldn't stop himself from pushing it. Forcing them to run after him. Not the other way around.

 

Stan didn't say anything. He just grabbed Gibbs the same way Tony had. Now he had two men holding onto the back of his pants, running after him. Once he'd run off and put any kind of distance between the three of them they had to touch him to get back the small amount of equilibrium they had. He felt like the pied piper. He also thought about getting a looser pair of pants. With two big hands wrapped around his waistband, his belt was about to cut him in half.

 

He gritted his teeth and plowed ahead into the briefing room.

 

"What the hell is so important?" Gibbs growled to no one in particular.

 

"News conference." One of the techies said, offering a tentative, flirtatious smile. Like more and more women were giving him these days. They seemed to find the idea of the three of them together irresistibly sexy. Gibbs, standing in the middle of the darkened room with Tony and Stan wrapped around him, felt ridiculous. He snarled. The woman blanched and turned abruptly back to her screen, bending over it, typing furiously.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

There was pounding on the door. Dr. Blair Sandburg sighed. He was never going to finish this chapter. He hit save and pushed himself back away from his laptop and headed for the door.

 

More pounding, increasingly frantic. And his name being called.

 

He jerked the door open. "What the hell...?" He began...only to have his student aide cut him off. The brown eyes were excited, the man's cheeks were flushed. He was trying to catch is breath.

 

"Blair you have got to see this news conference. We've been listening to the teasers, it's about the new laws that are a result of the San Francisco Virus." The grad student got out between gasps.

 

Blair shut his mouth on the objections he was about to give. OK, he ~was~ interested in that kind of news. He followed the chubby young man to the office. Every member of his staff was gathered around the ancient TV. He wedged himself in between two grad student sitting on one of the threadbare couches, who made grunting noises of complaint but their eyes were glued to the picture.

 

A short, delicately built man with a shock of black hair stood at the podium as someone finished adjusting the height of the microphone way down. Apparently the last speaker had been about a foot taller then the tiny man.

 

"Good evening, I am Dr. Clarence Wong. I am the head scientist in Genetics Division at the CDC. I am a genetic specialist with an emphasis in virology and the genetics of viruses that are used as vectors. I have been asked to speak to you, the American people, on behalf of the President of the United States." The slender Asian man looked down at his notes. his head only just higher than the top of the lectern. He reminded Blair of the name of that singing group from a few years back, Talking Heads.

 

"A bit of background here. As you know four months ago there was an accidental release of a virus in the San Francisco Bay Area. That virus has been given the designation of VS-122, for reasons that are not important. The virus, once combined with a second release of a mutating agent, was a changed version of one that was being studied, one that had no affect on humans. The newly mutated version however, did have significant effect on those persons who were exposed, with profound consequences as we have seen in the intervening months."

 

No kidding. Blair thought silently. He was familiar with Dr Wong's body of research. He'd read several of the man's early papers on genetics, all from the time before he specialized in viral studies.

 

"I'll say," someone in the group muttered. She was shushed by everyone in front of the TV in the Anthro office, no one wanted to miss a single word. Everyone here was a scientist. This stuff was pure science fiction come to life. It was ~interesting~. They lived for this stuff.

 

"We have been keeping the affected people under close observation. That includes every person who survived the exposure. An extraordinary effort. We all know what occurred to people who were close to others when they inhaled the virus. What we didn't know, was how those persons who were alone were affected. Now we are having some inkling of that."

 

He paused dramatically, his fingers skittering over the pages he held. His mouth was compressed, grim, but his eyes were shining. Come on! Blair thought. Spit it out! Jim had been in Frisco then, alone, in fact the scent of the virus as it spread across the region had woken the Sentinel. Jim had been exposed. Blair was concerned for his friend as well as intrigued from a scientific point of view.

 

"Of the assumed 35,000 persons exposed, nearly one third were alone at the time of exposure and remained alone for the fifteen seconds necessary to create a lasting bond between individuals. There appeared to be no affect on these people. Initially. Now we know better."

 

Blair nearly screamed his frustration as the man paused yet again. The very air in the office was vibrating as everyone leaned forward.

 

"The virus lay dormant in these beings for a time. Then it became active again. Unpredictably. By which I mean, no one had any sign that they were vulnerable, or contagious. But the virus became reactivated in every one of the individuals with known exposure. As most of these people remained under close watch, when the virus reactivated they formed attachments to the persons closest to them. Many of whom were others who were also exposed, or the observers. There were few cases of bonding to outsiders, but they did occur. However as time has progressed we are seeing more and more cases of involuntary bonding with persons who were not exposed." The man's face was positively funereal.

 

"However a far more serious event has happened. Or rather has come to light. Even those thought to be previously safe from exposure, who tested negative for antibodies indicating exposure, have now begun testing positive. It is the belief of the scientific community that these individuals will follow the pattern seen in the subgroup of those who were alone at the time of initial exposure. In other words, they will reactivate at a future time and the persons will form attachments to others around them. Thank you."

 

Abruptly the man stepped back from the podium and another man took his place. A more different man would have been hard to find. He was tall, jeez, maybe six and a half feet tall, clad in military fatigues. He was wide shouldered, hard eyed and stern. His eyes didn't sparkle, they glittered. Blair put a hand over his mouth. He had a bad, bad feeling about this. He burrowed in his pocket as he got to his feet. He snagged his cell phone, dialing.

 

"Hello. I am General Harmon Brown. It is my duty to inform you as Citizens of this great country, that martial law has been declared across the nation. And a quarantine has been established that includes the states of California, Washington, Idaho, Colorado, Arizona, Montana, Nevada and Oregon. Also the Northwest sections of Mexico and the Southwest portions of Canada. This area of quarantine is where most of the outbreaks are located. I am not a scientist, I am a soldier. I can't tell you why that is. It is my job to oversee the quarantine and maintain the border that will be established there. No one will be allowed out of the quarantine for the foreseeable future. Deadly force will be used if necessary and without hesitation."

 

"Tong." The familiar voice answered.

 

"Hi David, this is Blair." Blair turned his back on the other people in the office, keeping his voice low. "Get Jim now. Get him to the loft, I don't care how you do it. Don't let anyone near him. No one. It's really important. Do what you have to, but get him to the loft."

 

"What is wrong?" The detective asked, his slight accent becoming more pronounced as he began to worry.

 

"It has to do with the Virus. Just get him to the loft and alone. I'm on my way." Blair pulled his jacket on, heading for the door. No one noticed him leaving. "Oh, and keep the windows up on the ride home."

 

As Blair slipped out, a third man approached the dais amid shouted questions from the reporters gathered around it. "I am Senator Gerald Raines," he announced unnecessarily, his booming voice drowning out the questions from the press. He was a conservative lawman and outspoken in his views. "In this nation's time of crisis we have responded as quickly as possible to protect the majority of the citizens of these United States of America. It is with a heavy heart that we have undertaken these new laws...." He droned on. Not looking sorry at all. Looking horrifically pleased with himself.

 

".....any persons who have been exposed to the virus will be forcibly deported into the area of quarantine....."

 

"Jesus Christ. Jesus." Gina said into the stunned group all of whom were gaping at the TV set as the man droned on. "Can they do that?"

 

"Hey." The grad student who had fetched Blair said, glancing around. "Where is Professor Sandburg?"


End file.
